Page 50 of One True Loves

I pose and then shrug. “It’s a moment.”

“Mm-hmmm.” He lets out one of his loud, perfect laughs. I find myself feeling grateful that we’re the only two in the room, so it’s just mine to enjoy.

“And the camera?” he asks.

“You never know when the inspiration will strike.” I hold it up over my eye, and he frames his face with his hands, cheesing. “Nah, not worth the film,” I say, and he rolls his eyes.

“Okay, and just for that, I have the tax for using my internet privileges today,” he laughs, turning his attention back to the computer. He types something.

“Tax? What are you, the troll under the bridge?” I ease myself into the chair next to him, and see what’s on his screen. “Okay, yes, definitely troll-like behavior.” It’s one of the major-deciding quizzes that he had printed out before and that I had given the ax to in Santorini. “I thought we moved on from this, man. And we were making such good progress! I only hated you, like, thirteen percent at this point.”

“Thirteen percent, huh? And I thought I was at least down to five. Maybe ten, tops.” He smiles, and I shoot him back my best active bitch face. “Listen, the best tests are responsive; they change with your answers. So I feel like I couldn’t give you the best testing experience before. Plus, it smelled like donkey shit, and even worse, you had to listen to my annoying voice....”He bumps me with his shoulder. “Please will you just try it? Worst case, you waste five minutes. Best case, all of your problems are solved.”

I want to be annoyed, but then he does this fluttery thing with his long eyelashes. And I know he’s trying to be funny, but it makes me want to do whatever he asks. Like, until the end of time. And I guess he is right. What’s the worst that can happen from taking one of these silly tests?

So, I bump him out of the way and snatch the keyboard from him, grumbling the whole time so he knows I don’t like it. But I answer each question, many of them repeats from the ones Alex read to me on the steps in Santorini, thoughtfully and honestly. And by the time I get to the last one, thirty out of thirty, I’m feeling almost hopeful, even. Like, maybe this stupid internet quiz will figure out my major and my life path for me. Maybe it was this easy all along.

But then I click submit, and the results pop up. “You should major in the arts!” The arts. That’s it. For real. And then there’s a long list of possible majors, everything from art history to graphic design to photography. Everything I’ve already considered.

My expectations weren’t high, but like, damn. Can you narrow it down for me at all, internet survey? What will I feel fulfilled doing forever? What will I be the best at? What will make my parents—and me—happy? These are the questions I need answers to.

And soon. The end of this cruise, and my parents’ deadline, is less than a week away.

Alex looks over my shoulder, eyes dancing with excitement, but then he visibly deflates when he reads what’s on the screen.

“Well... that sucks.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I snort, clicking out of the window. “Can I use your internet now, your trollness?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles. And then, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I shrug, logging into my email. “And hey, it’s not like I’m in a bad situation. I’ll go to NYU. I’ll study art history. Lots of people would love to do that. It’s not the end of the world if I’m not, like, ecstatic about it.”

“You deserve to do something that makes you ecstatic though.”

I turn to him and shrug again. “Like you said before, though, when we were in Sicily, maybe it doesn’t have to be all that. My passion. Maybe I just need to pick something that I know I’ll be halfway decent at, and stick with it long enough. Like my parents keep telling me to do. I don’t need to be in love with what I’m majoring in.”

“I did say that.” His eyebrows press close together. “But maybe I shouldn’t have. It makes me kind of... sad? That my pragmatism has rubbed off on you. That’s what I want for me, but it doesn’t have to be that way for you.”

“I mean, you make the pod person life look so appealing,” I say with a wink. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Andagain, this conversation we’re having, it just feels so... privileged? Like, my ancestors were fighting for the right to even go to college and I’m whining because the major I chose doesn’t, like, give me life? I need to just get over it and put my head down.”

His brow furrows even more, but then he starts to nod slowly, like I’m convincing him. I’ve almost convinced myself too.

I turn my attention back to my screen, and he logs on to the computer next to me. I start sorting through the emails I’ve gotten since I last checked it on the plane. I delete lots of summer sale emails from my favorite stores, skim and then respond to a couple of congrats e-cards from distant aunties, and I’m about to open one of the many messages from Tessa, when I see a name I wasn’t expecting.

Jay Parikh.

My brain rushes to catch up with the words I see in the preview.

What’s up, Lenore! Just wanna see when you’re gonna be back. We should...

My heart thumps in my chest as the cursor hovers over the message. We shouldwhat? What!

But instead of finding out what kind of mess he’s spouting to try and reel me back in, I click the little trash can icon. And then empty my trash folder, too.

Jay doesn’t deserve access to my mind or my heart anymore. I’m not sure when I truly and fully started believing that, whenI became certain that I would no longer be giving that asshole any more of my energy.

Was it after that night with Alex? When he—as a friend—planned such a perfect night for me, far beyond whatever boy I’ve been talking to even attempted?

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